


all new

by hellhoundsprey



Series: ficlet prompts [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Prompt: anyone / jack + jack whimpering while they play with his recently pierced nipplesAh! The song of my people!
Relationships: Jack Kline/Sam Winchester
Series: ficlet prompts [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/478657
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	all new

Sam’s first words are, “That’s so hot. Are you kidding me?”

He’s already got his thumbs on them by the time he adds, eyes wide and wondering on Jack’s face:

“Does it hurt?”

Jack mutters, “No,” which is a lie, sort of; at least now with Sam circling the now-pierced peaks of his nipples with the too-large, too-rough pads of his thumbs. “No, it’s, uh—really? You like it?”

Sam kisses him deep for that, right on the mouth.

Chases that with a lick along the quiver of Jack’s lip and across his limp, wet tongue, and Jack blinks stupid and trembling and his tits hurt from the still-raw ache of the piercings, the foreign weight and shift of the metal under his skin.

Sam repeats, “So fucking hot,” and flashes a smile before he caves, ducks his head to suck his mouth over one of them, and Jack’s hands fly into his hair and grip tight and he just stammers,

“Oh— _oh_ ,”

and Sam hollows his cheeks, and the ring clinks against his teeth, and.

Jack warns, “Sam, I’m,” but Sam’s ahead of him, as always.

Hauls Jack into his lap, has him straddling one of his huge thighs and Jack shakes apart not long after, rutting quick and aborted and Sam holds him by the waist, switches his mouth to nurse on the other one while Jack’s still riding out the aftershocks, still has his fingers buried into Sam’s hair too tight.

He apologizes. Gets one of his hands plucked off Sam’s head, gets it cupping the bulge in the front of Sam’s jeans instead.

Says, “Oh,” and Sam keeps sucking at him while he helps Jack getting his zipper down, take him out, wrap Jack’s hand around him the way he needs it.

Jack’s hand doesn’t quite reach all the way around, but Sam’s told him repeatedly that he doesn’t mind.

Jack trembles, works his hand.

Watches Sam pulling off, licking his lips. The dark fans of his lashes and the bump of his nose into the milky white of Jack’s chest. How he murmurs, “So fucking pretty,” and he cups Jack’s flat tit as if Jack was a girl, a B-cupped little thing and he sucks the sore pink of his nipple back into his mouth, rolls his tongue like he means it, and Jack’s lashes flutter heavy.

Weak, “I’m sore,” and Sam listens, as always.

Leans back, switches back to his thumbs instead and blinks up into Jack’s face. At Jack’s mouth, back up.

Jack huffs, squirms in Sam’s hold—in Sam’s room, the crowded little space with the outdated movie posters, the heaps of books on the nearby desk, on the nightstand, in every corner.

Sam offers, “Tell you what,” and kisses at the hollow of Jack’s throat, the flimsy golden cross dangling from its according chain. “Once you get me off, I stop. Okay?”

And, of course, Jack mutters, “Uh, okay?” and he barely manages to choke off his ensuing moan for how effortlessly Sam latches back down to his chest, suckles at him like he’s hungry and starving and Jack’s hand falters, almost, for the pleasure-pain zinging down into his ribs, and it takes him a second, but. He can be good. He can.


End file.
